The Rood and the Torc Read online

  “If this is an enemy,” Aelfin said, “then for your loyal disobedience you may have earned the right to die at my side.” With that, they were out of the hall and striding across the village to the west side of the terp.

  By the time Kristinge reached the edge of the terp, the approaching war band had already arrived. They did not bother riding toward the gradual cattle ramp on the southern end of the village, but had dismounted and were leading their mounts right up the steep west side of the terp. Kristinge, unaware that an enemy would not attack a village this way, was surprised to see that Aelfin was sheathing his sword. However when he turned back to look again and saw the foremost warrior just reaching the top of the terp, he realized why. It was Eomaer. Kristinge had not at first recognized the young horse-chieftain for he was dressed against the cold in a heavy cloak that nearly covered his face. Yet he was still armed for battle. On seeing who it was, Kristinge looked behind for a sign of Aewin, but instinctively he knew she would not be there. He could see from the expression on Eomaer’s face that his visit was not one of pleasure.

  Eomaer did not delay, or bother with the customary greetings. While his warriors began to look after their horses, he approached Aelfin along with six thanes. Treothrym was among them. Their faces were red from cold and wind, and they had the look of men who had ridden hard for many hours.

  “We knew not that it was you who approached,” Aelfin then said. “For a moment, we feared enemies.”

  “Do not sheath your blade,” Eomaer replied. “They enemy you seek is not far behind.”

  At this, Aelfin’s eyes narrowed. “Come,” he said. Without further word, they walked back toward the hall where the fire still burned.

  Once inside, Eomaer greeted Aelfin and Kristinge in a way more customary among chieftains, and as his thanes dispersed around the fire and began to warm their hands, he spoke his mind. “Alas. The news I bring is not good,” he began, and the tone of concern in his voice was unmistakable. Kristinge did not know whether to be relieved that his confrontation with Aelfin had been interrupted, or worried about the news that Eomaer was bringing.

  “We listen,” Aelfin replied steadily.

  “We have ridden hard from our village to get here. Strong horses have tired themselves to the point of death that we might come quickly.”

  “Speak your message,” Aelfin said again.

  Kristinge took a step backward, trying to distance himself from the conversation, but he was listening keenly. Eomaer gave him one sidelong glance and then went on. “It is a war band. A large war band. My thane has counted more than three hundred.”

  Aelfin’s eyes widened at the news. “Three hundred? Where?”

  “West of here, and inland. Near Wieuwerd. They come in this direction.”

  “Franks?” Aelfin asked.

  “I do not know for sure who they are,” Eomaer replied, “but I believe they are Frisians.”

  “How far away?”

  “As I told you, we rode here as hard as we could, fearing the worst. The war band was south of Wieuwerd three nights past. With so many warriors at this time of year, travel will be slow. Yet if they are coming this way, then I guess they will arrive tomorrow by midday.”

  Aelfin nodded. He did not look at Kristinge, but his next word was what was on everybody’s mind. “Aldgisl.”

  And so, Kristinge thought. It was, indeed, too late.

  “That was my thought also,” Eomaer said. “Did we not already suspect such?”

  “Yes. Yes, but little did I think he would move against us so soon. Are you sure it is he?”

  “I have not seen this band, but little do I doubt it is Aldgisl. And I know of no other reason for his coming here in the middle of winter with a war band of such size save to dispense with a rival.”

  “Odin take them all,” Aelfin cursed again. “Thunar strike them.”

  “I fear it is we who will have to do the striking,” Eomaer replied. For the first time, he looked around the hall. When he discovered it was empty, he turned back to Aelfin in surprise.

  “Your war band? Your hearthwerod? Where is it?” First the first time, there was a hint of fear in his voice.

  “They are not far away,” Aelfin replied. “They hunt a boar that appeared in the woods yesterday. But I fear even with all my war band and yours that we will not be enough. Are you sure Aldgisl has three hundred with him?”

  “I am sure of very little,” Eomaer replied. “We know not for sure even if it is Aldgisl himself.”

  “Tell me what you do know,” Aelfin said, unable to hide his frustration and impatience.

  Eomaer nodded. “I had sent three of my thanes—Treothrym and his brothers; trustworthy warriors all of them,” he said with a glance in Treothrym’s direction. “I had sent them with a message to my cousin Wigmaer, the chieftain of Wieuwerd. On their second evening there, they were standing on the edge of the terp by chance looking southwestward when they saw the war band approaching. They did not wait to see who it was for fear that they would be detained, but took their leave of Wigmaer at once to bring word to me. Neither did I delay. Already their trip to Dronrip cost us time. The route from Wieuwerd here is more direct.”

  Despite all that had happened—not only his decision to abandon the torc but the danger now pressing hard upon him—Kristinge felt himself again swept up in the excitement. He almost wished he was still wearing the torc. He watched Aelfin closely. The chieftain made no response at first. Kristinge could see him calculating in his mind. “How many are with you?” he asked after a minute’s pause. “Twenty?”

  “Thirty on horse. For reasons of haste I could not afford to bring any on foot, nor was I willing to leave my village altogether undefended, little though we could have done against so many if they chose to travel north instead of east. For the same reasons, Wigmaer could not yet send any to our aid. However he sent word to reassure us of his loyalty. If he is able, he will send a war band to follow Aldgisl’s. Then if it comes to battle, he may fall on them from behind. But we can not count on that.” He paused, then added, “I fear for my cousin. If Aldgisl has reason to believe he has pledged his loyalty to a son of Finn, he will bear the first brunt of their assault.”

  “Perhaps,” Aelfin said. “But I fear more for us. If Aldgisl is coming here, there is little reason for him to waste time attacking Wieuwerd. If he eliminates us—if he can kill his rival,” he added, with emphasis and a nod that Kristinge was sure was directed toward him, “then he need not worry about the others. Any battle he wages against Frisians will weaken his own war band if he one day becomes king.”

  “May Thunar strike me down if I let Aldgisl become king.”

  For the first time since he had made his decision, Kristinge realized another implication of his rejecting the torc. He was Eomaer’s one hope to redeem his weregild: to seek his revenge upon Aldgisl. At that thought, Kristinge felt at once saddened that he was abandoning his friend, and also again convinced that his decision to refuse the torc was right. He would not be an instrument of revenge.

  “I do not say Aldgisl will be king,” Aelfin was saying. “Only that a future king would want to avoid attacking his own chieftains unless necessary.”

  “But will Aldgisl think in this way?” Eomaer asked. “A victory against us may weaken Friesland as a whole, but it would strengthen his own claim for the torc.”

  “Aldgisl, I think, will not risk unnecessary battle. Yet I know Réadban less well. He cannot be trusted. He is both more crafty than Aldgisl, and also less predictable. They were more savvy than I gave them credit for. I thought to have all winter to raise a war band. They have not given us the chance.”

  Eomaer nodded. He spoke with the voice of doom. “You have less than a day.”

  “We will do what we can. Do you have horses to spare? Have you sent word to Theoman, Wihtred, or Isernfyst?”

  “Isernfyst, no. It is a waste of a messenger to send word that far north. And my horses have reached exhaustion. If we try to run t
hem more in this cold, they will die. Even now, I fear for them. They need food. But I have sent word to Theoman and Wihtred, as well as to my cousin Aescholt. Still I fear it will do little good. By the time word reaches Theoman in Beowic, he will have no time to send his forces by foot. Wihtred has less far to travel. He may be able to reach us with help by late tomorrow.”

  Aelfin nodded. “You have done well. We will see that your horses are well taken care of—if I can get the Saxons in this village to touch them.”

  “I had not finished,” Eomaer went on. Despite his young age, he spoke to other chieftains as equals. “Aescholt may be of some help yet. He should have received my message yesterday. If he can get his ships as far as Hwitstanwic, he may be able to bring help up the Hunze. It will be a rough voyage in the winter seas even inside the isles, but he is one to try.”

  “Then we stand at sixty men,” Aelfin said. “We can count on no more.”

  “Will it suffice?”

  “If it comes to battle, we will be hard pressed. But defending the terp, we might do it. If we can hold out long enough, they may have difficulty with their supplies. And perhaps more help will come before all is over.”

  “Come then, let us plan.”

  They turned to Kristinge, who until that point they had left out of the conversation. Kristinge was aware of their eyes upon him, but he did not take his own gaze off of the fire. It had burned down over the course of the two conversations. Just few flames now flickered up from the coals. “Think well what you do,” Aelfin said softly. Only he and Kristinge knew of what they spoke. “And if your god can hear us, now is the time to call on him.”

  Now, indeed, was the time to call upon God. What to ask Him, however, was another question altogether.

  CHAPTER 21:

  Revenge

  As night was falling, Aelfin’s war band returned from the hunt, successful. They brought with them not only the large boar that was the object of their pursuit, but two deer and several ducks. Knowing nothing of the news that awaited them, they were loud with enthusiasm as they strode through the village proudly displaying their spoils. It was only a few minutes, however, before word had spread among them of the war band approaching Ezinge. Then the sound of celebration died away. And though the mead hall was crowded that night with the combined war bands of Aelfin and Eomaer, it was not the jubilant company of hearth companions to which Kristinge was accustomed, nor even the over-rowdy throng of warriors feisty with too much celebratory mead. Instead it was a sober gathering facing the prospect of an imminent battle against great odds, with Kristinge not the least heavy-hearted among them. Fortunately, knowing that the warriors would need their strength on the morrow, Aelfin made sure all were well fed. Opening Ezinge’s winter stores, he brought out an abundance of food to share among his men. Plenty of good beer, roasted grains, and dried fish augmented the fresh boar, venison, and duck. Nobody went hungry. And when the meal had been consumed, Dyflines filled the men with song nearly as hearty as their food. In this way, despite the fears that pervaded the hall, spirits were kept from sinking too low.

  Aelfin and Eomaer joined their men in listening to the first few of the bard’s songs. As the singing continued, however, the two chieftains with their most trusted thanes removed themselves to a quieter corner of the hall to speak of Ezinge’s defense. Kristinge, who could not shake his sense of obligation to the warriors gathered there—his own responsibility for the situation they found themselves in—sat nearby the chieftains and listened silently but intently to their discussion. The news that Eomaer brought dealt a blow to his plans, and he was again unsure of what to do. For all his assurance when he had spoken with Aelfin, he still had not completely forsaken his desires: the allure of the Frisian warrior’s life that had led him to go along with Aelfin’s plans in the first place.

  “You know battle better than I,” Eomaer began at once, before his older and more experienced comrade had a chance to speak. “Stay on the terp and lead your war band in the defense of the village. The slopes are steep and a few men can defend much space. Let me ride from the mound with my mounted band. With our speed and mobility on the flat fields, we will keep an army even as large as Aldgisl’s off-guard.” He grew more excited as he spoke. Despite the obvious danger to himself, there was a sense of eagerness in this young chieftain: the eagerness that both frightened and intrigued Kristinge. “A skilled mounted warrior is a formidable foe,” he concluded with a confident tone that belied the desperation of their situation.

  “Is Aldgisl’s army on foot?” Aelfin asked.

  Eomaer didn’t answer at first, but when Aelfin pressed him with the question a second time he admitted the answer was no. “Not entirely,” he explained. “It was reported that there are a small number of horse soldiers among them. How many, we do not know. I have told you before that we saw only from a distance. But,” he added, looking around proudly at his warriors who were seated in the hall, “none in Friesland are as skilled as these on the back of a horse. One of my men can outfight any two other Frisian on horseback. And any five on foot. Let us roam beyond the axwei and we will see that Aldgisl has little strength to attack Ezinge. Don’t let thirty horses be wasted.”

  It was a bold boast, but Kristinge did not doubt it. He looked at Aelfin for his response. “No,” Aelfin answered firmly. “I do not doubt your skills, but the plan is too dangerous. You would be outnumbered not five to one but ten to one.”

  “Every course of action we take is dangerous,” Eomaer replied. “If we live through tomorrow, it will only be with the blessings of the gods. And by the gods, even Thunar would not want to face my men on horseback.”

  Kristinge found himself smiling at young Eomaer’s confidence, and praying that God would spare his life. Even Aelfin was smiling. “Perhaps you would live through the battle,” he acquiesced. “But who would stay within the village? Thirty men will not be enough to defend the entire terp. And we cannot afford for our war bands to be separated. If Aldgisl has brought three hundred warriors, he can easily surround us. We would be separated, and once Ezinge fell then Dronrip would soon follow.”

  Eomaer still did not concede, but pressed his argument for a few minutes longer. However when both Maccus and Ceolac entered the debate taking Aelfin’s position, Eomaer finally relented. It was agreed that they would all remain on the terp and take a defensive posture. “A waste of horses,” the young chieftain grumbled uncharacteristically.

  “Not so,” Aelfin replied at once. “Your horses will be needed within the village to reposition warriors to the weakest areas: wherever fighting grows fiercest. It is their horses that will be wasted since they are of no use attacking up the side of a terp. This is where our one real advantage lies: that they will have to attack up the terp. Defending the top of such a steep slope gives a warrior as much advantage as being on horseback. For that reason alone, sixty might hope to hold out against three hundred. If only we had a walled burg, then we might hold out against thrice three hundred!”

  At the promise that his horses might still be of use, even if only within the village, Eomaer appeared more content with his role in the battle. Planning continued. Aelfin reviewed that the terp was steeply sloped around most of its three sides. The most vulnerable position—the crucial location to focus their defense—was the ramp on the southern end of the village. There the assault would be fiercest and the defense the strongest. “If it looks as though we can keep the ramp free of assault, and if more help comes by river, then perhaps you will have the opportunity to ride out from the village before the battle is over,” Aelfin finally agreed. “When Aldgisl has been defeated, I will give you the honor of pursuing his fleeing war band and exacting submission from them.”

  At this, Eomaer’s smiled broadened further. It was as if the battle was already won in his eyes. When the planning was over, Aelfin once again joined the rest of his thanes in drink, making a point of encouraging each warrior in person while they listened to the last of Dyflines’ songs. Eomaer
followed Aelfin’s lead and moved among his own men with words of courage. By this time, the cloudy sky had long been dark and the night was well advanced. Despite the crowded hall and the promised troubles of the coming day, the warriors found places to rest. Aelfin’s thanes, at least, had seen their share of battles, and they knew the warrior’s discipline of sleep as well as fight. Well fed by food and song, and fatigued from their hard day’s work, they put aside their fears and slept well that night. The long winter nights of Friesland did have their blessings.

  Blessings to some, at least. Unfortunately not all in Ezinge shared the benefits of the many hours of darkness. Despite his own exhaustion Kristinge was unable to sleep, but instead lay awake thinking of what lay ahead of him—of what he needed to do. And his thoughts gave him no peace. Every course of action troubled him. He could find no escape. After a time, therefore, he turned to prayer, petitioning his God for strength and wisdom. Yet even his prayers were confused and incomplete, lacking the focus that his years of monastic discipline ought to have given him. In the end, he could only trust that his God could hear him nonetheless, and he took comfort in the words of the Apostle Paul: though we do not know how to pray as we ought, the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with moans too solemn for words.

  During the night, the clouds parted and colder air more in keeping with the season came blowing down from the north. When the following day dawned, there was a deep chill over the village. Had servants not kept the hearth fire burning all night, there would have been ice within the hall despite the heat generated by the extra bodies. Nevertheless, before the sun had finished cresting over the low hills to the east, Aelfin had already positioned his scouts along the western edge of the terp. The ever eager Eomaer volunteered a company of five to ride out from the village and bring advanced warning when the enemy approached, but Aelfin said it was unnecessary. “We will see them soon enough—sooner than we wish. For now, let us rest and take sustenance.” The chieftain ordered a large cauldron of barley and venison stew, along with plates of bread, dried fruits and nuts, to be set out by the hearth so the warriors could break their night’s fast and fortify themselves for the coming battle. Soon the hall was full of warriors moving about and talking, often loudly as if the volume of their voices might drown the fear of battle. Oddly, it was in the midst of this commotion that Kristinge’s exhaustion finally overcame him. He broke his sleepless night’s fast with a hunk of the hearty bread and a long drink of cold water, and shortly afterward drifted off to sleep on a bench in the back corner of the hall. Despite the noise in the hall around him, he was blessed with a stretch of untroubled sleep that lasted through the morning.